Leave of Absence
by sporkingly
Summary: You really didn't think they left for a year with only simply holding hands, did you? Set between S5 and S6.
1. Chapter 1

**Leave of Absence**

**Chapter One:**

Still dressed in his fatigues, Booth felt ridiculous hovering outside in the hallway. One day he'll be smart enough to choose a career that didn't require a uniform. And how he had gotten himself in trouble before things had yet to begin was a true testament to what big of a circus the whole situation was. He hated circuses, even when they didn't have clowns… which was debatable at this point. The part of him that had just taken off on an airplane to the other side of the globe with Bones was already regretting his decision to go through with this. He should have never approached that Green Beret and at the inevitable moment when the kid approached him, he should have said to tell Uncle Sam to find some other sucker. He had already served his country and wasn't gonna buy what they were trying to sell.

Man, he really was a dumb fuck sometimes.

A cadet passed by him for the third time – Booth was started to think that he was sent to keep an eye on him – when he stopped. "He's really not someone I'd keep waiting, Sir." he advised, motioning to the door. Booth gave him a sharp look, and the private quickly snapped to attention before giving him a salute.

"Go," Booth commanded, internally observing how easily his 'army tone' came back to him. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that either. Though for arguments sake, he knew that Bones would point out that is wasn't that far off from the inflection he uses when ordering her squints around. (_Not that they are mine, they are all highly qualified individuals employed at the Jeffersonian._)

Thinking he should probably be more concerned at hearing her voice in her head considering his track record for that sort of thing, Booth took a deep breath and knocked on the solid oak door in front of him.

"Come in."

Persons in positions of power always say 'come in' Booth noted idly. It signified to whoever was on the outside that they were too busy (with more important things to do was implied) to be bothered with wasting their precious time to cross the room and open it themselves. This was in addition to stating the claim and feeding their egos that they were to be respected enough to have a closed door in the first place. Both circumstances had to be present for the 'come in' directive. Those only with the first circumstance normally didn't remember to shut their door or if they did, the outsider gave a short knock before walking right on in. The acknowledgement that they were _allowed_ to come in wasn't needed.

The man that had spoken was seated behind an equally solid oak desk. He had a full head of graying hair and a pair of reading glasses perched in front of light brown eyes as he studied the folder propped on his knees. Despite being in his late fifties, youth still clung to his features in distinguished grace. His army dress uniform gave him an air of dignity but Booth knew that he held the same decorum in gym shorts and a t-shirt.

After closing the door, Booth stood at a position of rest with his back straight and his arms clasped firmly behind him. "You demanded my presence, Sir."

"Take a seat, Sergeant Major." The man said, choosing to look over Booth's unwise choice of using the word demand. He waited for Booth to take up residence in one of the two club chairs in the room before continuing. "Are you going to present a problem for us?"

"That depends, do you mean us as in you and the Secretary of Defense or us as in the United States of America as a whole… Sir."

Taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, the man resisted the urge to groan. "A simple yes would have sufficed."

"My apologies. Yes, I will definitely be a problem if I continue to be treated like a private fresh off my first day of boot camp." Booth shifted in his chair. "Request for permission to speak freely, Sir."

The man behind the desk laughed. "Please, I'm dying to hear it."

"I didn't ask for this, Oscar. In fact, I recall you having one of your minions hunt me down in the middle of broad daylight while I was doing my job. Then you and your golf buddies over at the pentagon went on to strong arm the Director of the FBI into giving me the option of either being fired or complying to this plan you've concocted. Kudos by the way, whatever you had on Cullen must have been good because he isn't an easy one to push around. So, what I'd really love to know is why you're the man sitting behind the desk while my ass is being shipped off to the desert."

"Barbra has lymphoma and I've never been one for golf."

All the air that had been building up inside Booth for the past few days left in him a _whoosh._ Although there was still a long list of them to go, a lot his questions had just been answered. Booth had always liked Oscar Devoir, not only as his commander but also as a friend. He knew that for Oscar to want to pull him off his job, especially in the way that he did, that whatever was going on had to be important. Devoir was a First Sergeant for many years before becoming a Captain and Booth's chief skills instructor at ranger school. He is a fierce patriot and the best teacher and mentor Booth had ever served under. Nothing short of his wife would have torn him away from the hands-on region of training. What Booth wanted to know now was why was Oscar choosing him as his predecessor?

And there was the fact that Barbra had cancer and no one thought to mention it to him. Strike one for being a dumb fuck, strike two for not staying in better touch for the man he owed his FBI career to. Barbra Devoir was this high spirited, invincible force in his mind. She would boss the big, gruff military men around as if they were witless school children. It was hard to imagine her sick. "I… that's crazy." Even as he spoke, Booth knew that he sounded like an imbecile and no words he could say would be adequate enough. "When?"

"It's been touch and go for a few years now. I switched over to the administrative side as soon as she was diagnosed. Everyone's been very understanding."

"How are you holding up?"

Devoir glanced at the picture of his wife on his desk, a lovely blonde with laugh lines crinkled in the corner of her eyes and a care free smile with her arms wrapped around their three adult children. "Not that it matters, but I'm rolling with the punches. Sometimes when I'm wondering the halls of the hospital at two in the morning do I wish I was back at the school? Sure. However, that's only because I feel so useless here. I wish I could be doing more, strategizing. Trying to fight an enemy inside the body is a hell of a lot harder than tracking even the elusive of men." He smirked, "And every now and again I have the urge to yell at a squad of jarheads to let off some steam."

"That's what I have squints for." Booth quipped back before growing serious. "How is she?"

Devoir gave him a look that said they were unquestionably discussing the squint comment and all that it implied later. "A lot tougher than us for damn sure. Barbra is… Barbra. She's been using this 'time off work' as she calls it to refine her cooking skills and write a manual on how to be a military wife. When she does get down, the kids come out in droves. Shelly, our youngest, has been amazing."

"A doctor, right?"

"Pediatric Cardiac Surgeon," he said with pride. "She's put her practice on the back burner to stay with Barb when I have to be dragged in here."

Booth started to stand. "Let's wrap this up then. You need to go home to your wife and frankly it's been far too long since I've told her hello."

Devoir laughed. "Nice try. She's vacationing in Hawaii with the grandkids, though she would have gotten a kick out of seeing you. She has been really good for the past few months both praying that this time remission will hold, which has allowed me to _concoct_ the plan that I've been working on." He tossed the leather bound folder he had been looking at into Booth's lap.

As the folder settled, apprehension dipped into the pit of Booth's stomach. He had already signed away his life to that army once without reading the fine print to know what awaited him. He didn't plan on making that same mistake twice. "Oscar, you know that I trust your abilities as an operations leader and I'd be the first to put my life in your hands."

"I'm sensing a but coming."

"Bingo," he clapped. "My gut is telling me that whatever this is, I've only heard the tip of the iceberg. You can't throw a position of Sergeant Major at me without my antenna going up. And the last I heard, the military didn't take people with flat feet much less a brain tumor."

"Standard army operating procedure is to throw fancy titles at you when they are trying to get what they want." Devoir said, gesturing to the nameplate on his desk declaring his promotion to Major. "Also you're being hired for the muscle, I'm the brains."

Holding up the folder, Booth was adamant. "Funny, but we're not discussing the particulars of the assignment until I get an agreement signed, sealed, and notified first. I want an iron clad guarantee that if anything happens to: Parker Booth, my son or his mother, Rebecca Stintson, the little old ladies at the home haven't strangled Pops yet so Hank Booth, or Dr. Temperance Brennan then I'm gone no questions asked."

"You know that they are already clauses for family emergencies."

"I'm serious, Oscar. My ass isn't hitting the sand unless I have a contract signed by you, Secretary of Defense, Sam Cullen, me, and Prosecutor Caroline Julian. I'm talking air right. Anything that _I_ deem as an emergency happens to those four people, assignment over… no special cases, black ops delays, twenty-four hour rule… I'm gone."

"I'll have it drawn up," Devoir relented. He let a few moments go by for the tension to pass. "Well I guess you've won me the argument with Barb that your one of the main characters of her favorite series. Thanks."

The words fell from his lips on automatic reflex. "Bones and I are just partners."

"Booth, take advice from a man that has been married for thirty four years, the women folk usually prefer endearments like sweetheart, baby, honey, gorgeous, you can get away with bunny too if you're Australian. I don't think I'll ever meet a woman that swoons when you call her parts of a skeleton, even one who works and writes about them."

Grinning, Booth refrained from telling Devoir that Bones doesn't believe in marriage, would slam a door in his face if he called her honey, and does indeed enjoy his own personal endearment… though she'd never admit it out loud. But he knew – he could tell by the look in her eyes – and that was enough for him. "Bones is far from any woman you've ever met. Ye have little faith, my charm is still flawless. The name doesn't bother her in the slightest. You don't know her like I do."

"Of course I don't, I'm not her 'partner'" Devoir had the audacity to air quote the word. "However, I do know a bit about her. I do know that you left the base cowboy style less than twenty four hours after you got there to see Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute, Micro-Medical Lab Department off at the airport. I do know that she boarded flight number 47101 to Indonesia where she will arrive in on the main island of the North Maluku Providence, Halmahera at approximately 1700 hours tomorrow. I do know she will then travel to the nearby island of Bacan where she is the lead on an anthropological dig for the American Anthropological Alliance. The security escorts on the dig are ex marine Liam Whitlock and former Tentara Nasional Indonesia officer Dimas Gunawan. I have your copies of their backgrounds here," he said, indicating to a small stack of manila folders to the left of his computer. "I also do know that Dr. Brennan held the plane for forty five minutes until you got there. This is in addition to me knowing that she met personally with the Secretary of Defense to instruct him that if any grave harm should befall on you in Afghanistan that she is to be contacted immediately."

Booth was stunned. Oscar had really done his homework. It let him breathe easier about his trip. Funnily enough, out of everything he said, he was the least surprised by the fact that Bones had _instructed_ (which he knew really was more like demanding and blackmailing) the Defense Secretary. He was also just a little turned on by it, but those were nice thoughts to mull over later. Coughing to stifle his laughter, Booth scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, I would suggest that you tell the SoD to follow through with that request. Bones can get crabby when she's left out of the loop."

Devoir wanted to point out that Booth was completely smitten with the lady doctor, boy did he have it bad. But, they were army men… not gossiping women at the salon. Nevertheless, he was happy for him. He had known Booth long enough to know that he wasn't going to accept what was coming easily. Especially if he felt that his loved ones weren't being cared for. Devoir had spent days organizing background information on the bone doctor and Booth's young son. He wasn't a great strategist without merit. He always knew just when to lay his cards out on the table.

He nodded to the folder Booth still held on to. "Open it, Sergeant Major."

Stark black and white text stared back at Booth. A severe red seal winked at him from the corner of the first page. "Oscar…" he warned, "this isn't special forces. This isn't even black ops."

"No son, it's Omega 17."

**Eekk! I should not be starting another story, but the finale would not leave me alone. It was fic idea heaven. Alias fans have a heads up on the omega remark, the rest of y'all… *evil laughter* So worth continuing? I'd love to hear y'alls thoughts. **


	2. Chapter 2 Pt 1

**Leave of Absence  
Chapter Two: Part One  
**

It was two and a half hours into her flight.

Brennan had purchased two first class tickets – her seat as well as the one next to it – in order to ensure that she would be privy to the solace of having the entire aisle to herself. She had left Ms. Wick, along with the stuffy confines of unruly children and talkative, patrons back in coach. The dull hum of the aircraft's engine provided the right amount of background noise while still allowing her enough silence to think. She pictured her jumble of thoughts leaping from one synapses to another until they aligned themselves down the length of the frontal lobe of her cerebral cortex. To her dismay, none of the pertained to the context of her rapidly upcoming dig. Normally she would have been reviewing the semantics of the field studies completed so far or reading up on the native culture of the area. One of the few things she disfavored about archeological digs was the disruption it gave to the society around it. As lead researcher of the Maluku project, she should be creating rules on ways to minimize the impact of their presence. This was in addition to the numerous outlines and timelines she needed to construct. Usually a study of this size and importance was arranged over a series or weeks if not months of conferences. She had been notified and put on a plane within a span of ten days.

Booth would have said that the apprehension she was experiencing was her gut telling her that the situation had an odor of sea life. (_Smells fishy. Your gut thinks it smells fishy, Bones._) Though how her gut could smell, think, or feel was beyond the realm of her understanding.

Alas, thus was the crux of her problem. Booth. She sighed to herself – hating the sound – and turned her head toward the plane's window. She felt conflicted at noticing that her palm was still warm and tingly from where he had gripped it hours earlier. Having attachments to people was a relatively new concept for her. Sure she and Angela had been friends for nearly a decade, yet it wasn't the same. Maybe it helped that the artist was a free spirit and often encouraged trips to far off places. Then again, maybe not… she figured that it would still be different even if Angela didn't live for spontaneity. Nevertheless, Brennan had never felt like she was leaving Angela behind the way it had felt when she had to remove her hand from within Booth's. Turning and walking to board the plane was like leaving a piece of herself behind. It was illogical really to feel that way, especially considering that he was about to travel to the opposite end of the world as well. They had made the decision together to pursue their other duties of this year.

Little did she know that that was something she would be reminding herself a lot of this year.

These attachments were one of the reasons that put her on the airplane in the first place. During the Gravedigger trial, she feared that these emotions running rampant inside her were a liability. Would they inhibit her ability to be subjective? Did having bonds to other people make her an inferior scientist? Her job had changed so much in the past several years. She was now required to see the person beyond the bones. Moreover, she was forced to see how their death affected those in their life. At the end of the day, it was easier to digest how an 18th century Inca soldier dying in battle impacted culture than how a slaying of an eighteen year old boy impacted his mother. The potential anthropological finds of the Maluku dig were more than exhilarating, but Brennan knew she would have been lying if she denied that she was looking forward to its appeal of refreshingly subjective science.

Then, as she always did when she got on this line of thinking, her mind went to Zach. She had been able to explain to Booth how Zach had chosen purely the most logical choice when he helped in aiding to kill those people. But it had hurt her metaphorical heart to do so.

She thought that she had failed him. It scared her to think that someone she interacted with everyday could be so absolute in logic that it permitted him to rationalize murdering a stranger. If her alternative to having friends was to become completely detached from humanity, then she'd gladly accept whatever hindrances put on her scientific ability. She hoped Heather Taffet was basking in her advantage rooted in lack of morals as she rotted in prison.

It had taken her aback that Ms. Wick, who she viewed as very much a people person, neglected to regard Sweets before applying for a position on the dig. If Brennan was the sort of person to believe in the tradition of marriage, she would've assumed that the individual you vowed to love until death and spend the rest of your life with (two promises that were preposterous since neither would be guaranteed) should be considered before taking on a change that altered one's life thoroughly. Unlike what the vast majority thought, she was not so socially inept to disregard that the opinions of the people around her mattered. Had she been staying in the country, she hoped that Angela would have spoken with her prior to deciding to venture to Paris. She herself had taken Booth into account preceding her acceptance of being the lead in Maluku. Not only was he her close friend, they're partners. Her job affected his. She thought of him for those rational reasons, not whatever else psychology wanted to imply.

Brennan again looked toward the windows. She took in their rounded shape, her brain reviewing the reasoning behind the specific design. An airplane's windows were circular because it was best for aerodynamics to have as few edges as possible. Also, vessels were almost always rounded since it distributed pressure evenly – the same reasoning was applied to canned foods in grocery stores. She had collected countless of "trivial" facts like those throughout her life. After her parents went missing, it had become her quest to understand the world around her. She was desperate to think if she learned enough that it would one day make sense.

Deciding that she really had to prepare for Maluku, she reached into her carry on stowed under the seat in front of her. Her fingers collided with stiff cardstock, and she withdrew the object in confusion. It was a postcard. The Washington Monument stood tall and proud with the reflecting pool spilling out from the bottom, so fluid it could almost run off the paper. She flipped the card over without remembering making the conscious decision to do so. Then suddenly, there it was. Booth's familiar, slanted handwriting winked back at her. She toyed with the corners of the card as she digested his simple message.

_June 1__st__ 2011  
Can't Wait_

The letter was brief, concise, to the point. It reminded her utterly of him. The only emotion reflected in the text was the underlining of the last two words. Booth was one of the few people she knew who could say so much when saying so little. She clutched the postcard in her lap like she would an ancient artifact as she recalled their dinner two days ago...

* * *

"It's seven fifteen, Bones. Supper time. Let's go."

Brennan looked up from her computer to see Booth in the doorway of her office, her coat already draped over his arm. "I leave the day after tomorrow. I have too much work to complete before then to go to the diner with you. I'm sorry."

A tick formed in his jaw. They were about to be separated for a year and she didn't have _time_ for him? He concentrated on the fact that she had said she was sorry and was even focusing on him and not her work as she said it. He moved to approach her desk. "Let Cam handle it." He flipped off the monitor of her computer that was about a million times newer than his own. "We're not going to the diner."

"Booth!" she screeched, slapping his hand away and turning back on her display. "That's not her job. You can't just swagger in here and –"

"You think I swagger?" He grinned. "And that's exactly Cam's job." He touched Jasper then leaned across her desk to meet her eyes. "Come on, we're not going to see each other for another whole revolution of the Earth around the sun. Have dinner with me?" He threw in his best Seeley Booth charm smile for emphasis. She didn't say anything, but she pushed away from her desk which was better than any words of defeat. She started to unbutton her lab coat and frowned when he moved to help her, yet still allowed him to slide it from her shoulders.

"That's not entirely accurate," she corrected, causing him to glance up from straightening the lapels of her pea coat with a question in his gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow before not seeing each other for a complete revolution."

His hand met the small of her back as he led her out the door. "Actually, I'll be on base tomorrow."

She stopped walking abruptly and he almost tripped to avoid colliding into her. "You never mentioned that."

He couldn't help it. His fingers sought to soothe the vulnerability out of her voice by brushing against her in small, sure strokes. "Hey, I'm telling you now. I just found out on my way here." She nodded once in acceptance and kept walking.

The car ride was uncharacteristically but comfortably silent until he pulled out on a road that took them away for the inner part of the city. "I would have thought that you would want diner pie before being confined to prepackaged and processed foods."

He knew that it was her own particular way of asking where they were going and he refused to rise to the bait. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but don't knock an MRE until you've had one."

"I have had one." She was unable to hold her back her grin at the surprised raise of her eyebrows. For a reason she couldn't name, she found joy in being able to throw him off balance. "When I was working in Kiribati, the group I was with was stationed at a US naval base."

"Squids," he muttered under his breath as he flicked on the blinker. "And?" he questioned, stealing a sidelong look.

She tilted her head to the side, considering. Booth thought it was one of her most endearing qualities. She gave even the most banal things her honest and thorough assessment. "For the constraints it is put under and its extensive durability, it's quite flavorful. However, I preferred the local fare."

"Duck's tongue and cow's eyeballs?" he made a face. "Give me a meatloaf MRE any day. Actually, I used to be homesick for them when I left the Army."

"Are you anticipating going back?"

Booth killed the engine and looked up at the restaurant in front of them in lieu of answering. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid her question. He just wasn't sure how he felt about it yet. "Hungry, Bones?"

She was already out of the car by the time he had managed to get his butt off the driver's seat so there was no way he could have even attempted to help her. However, she did throw him off when she didn't protest or sprout alpha male behavioral actions as he opened the paint splattered French doors for her.

The Mediterranean bistro was small with dim lighting. He had read on their website that the ornately carved tables and chairs were of mismatched tones since they were all made from reclaimed wood. Soft almost jazz like Spanish music turned the many sounds from the kitchen into a mere whisper in the background. It made him want to grab hold of Bone's hips and sway to the melodic tones. As it was, he watched her look to her left and take in the impressive glass bar and even more impressive mural behind it. Rich vibrant colors had been splashed on the walls with artistic flair that he didn't have to be Angela to appreciate. Also, there had been a blurb about the new restaurant in the Post so the food was to be unquestionably delicious.

It wasn't the type of place you took your partner.

That had been his first thought when he read the note left on his desk by Caroline stating that he and Bones had a standing reservation there and he damn well better use it. Apparently the puckish lawyer's nephew was head chef. He knew that he should have told her to go meddle in someone's life and leave his business alone. After all, he didn't have the greatest track record when people thought it was important to bestow gems of wisdom to him about _his _partner. Daffodil. Daisy. Jupiter. He knew Bones. He didn't need other's advice messing with his gut instinct. Every day for that first week he told himself he was going to tell Caroline to cancel the reservation as soon as he saw her. Day nine he admitted defeat and made peace with the fact that he wanted to take Bones to some fancy shamcy place where he could normally never get a table. Some place that gay botanist Jason would think to go.

"Reservation under Seeley Booth," he told the bone thin young woman once they had reached the hostess' podium.

She instantly smiled at them and picked up two menus without stopping to check her log book. "Of course. Right this way Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan." She led them to the far end of the bistro and out onto a cozy screened in sun porch. Despite it being night, it showed of the landscaping nicely. "Your waiter will be out momentarily, but is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?" They both shook their heads and with one last smile, she retreated back inside.

She had barely made it out of sight when Bones asked, "Did you have sex with her?"

"Whoa, what?" Booth spluttered, yanking his eyes up to meet hers. He noticed that she wouldn't look at him dead on.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Booth. She's an attractive woman. She has many symmetrical features and her clavicles are very pronounced, denoting her femininity." Brennan was actually thinking that the hostess was slender and blonde, but _that_ was something she wasn't going to voice.

Booth rubbed his right eyebrow and scratched the back of his neck. It was a gesture she had come to realize he did whenever he wrote reports while tired… or was completely stumped at something she said. "I never slept with her. I don't even know her. What gave you the idea that we…" he trailed off and waved his hand in a motion that she deduced was supposed to mean intercourse.

"She knew exactly who we were and she's attracted to you."

He scooted closer to the table causing his knee to bump hers. "What? No she wasn't."

"Her pelvic girdle shifted when she looked at you. It's an involuntary response a woman does at seeing an acceptable mate. It's one of the ways the body prepares itself for procreation." He grinned at her then which threw her off. Normally he was aggravated when she discussed sex, especially in scientific terms.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not attracted to her."

"Booth it's perfectly acceptable for you to—"

"She's not my type," he interrupted. Brennan thought the evidence of past girlfriends pointed otherwise, but wisely kept silent about that too. "She's too… fragile. I feel like I'd break her."

Unbidden, the image of Booth on top of her in bed with his big hand easily holding both her wrists to pin her arms above her head zipped across her brain. She'd use the leverage she had with her legs wrapped around his waist to flip their positions, showing him she was anything but fragile. She had been having sexualized thoughts about Booth for years (he was quite the male specimen), but they always took her by surprise. She had never been able to manage to keep them at bay. His words however seemed to set fire something within her. There was quiet undercurrent of power Booth always exuded, a promise held in the wide breath of his shoulders. To hear him acknowledge that he used that power in the bedroom was…

Booth quickly noticed a change in Brennan. He might not know all of the anthropological mumbo jumbo behind it, but he could definitely pick up on when a woman was thinking about sex. "So Bones," he smiled at her, all teeth and cockiness worthy of his belt buckle. "Who does your hips shimmy for?"

**TBC...**

**Come on, chapter two part one - that's like a giveaway of a cliffhanger! :) I really intended to put everything all at once but it would have been too long by the time I finished, and I figured y'all would appreciate a quicker (relatively speaking) update. Thanks goes out to everyone who has reviewed or asked for story alerts, click the awesome lil button below, I would really like input on y'alls ideas of where this story should go. What do y'all want to see while they're away?**


	3. Chapter 2 Pt 2

**Leave of Absence**

**Chapter Two: Part Two**

_Previously…_

_Booth quickly noticed a change in Brennan. He might not know all of the anthropological mumbo jumbo behind it, but he could definitely pick up on when a woman was thinking about sex. "So Bones," he smiled at her, all teeth and cockiness worthy of his belt buckle. "Who does your hips shimmy for?"_

BBB*BBB

A flush bloomed across her face, and she was sure that it must have been visible. Who was this man in front of her? Sparring with Booth fell well within range of their normal interactions. It was practically their default. But, he never called her out on sex. The only thing that had come close was when he tried to educate her on the difference between crappy sex and making love. She still wasn't certain she believed intercourse could somehow defy the laws of physics and would have preferred a practical demonstration of the lesson. However, he had painted that line in the dirt years ago - a line that had been obliterated as of late. You can't tell someone that you love them (atta girl or otherwise) and then still hide behind professional decorum.

Brennan wasn't the type of person to go through life with regrets, yet she wished she could go back to that day. She wished there was a way she could shove those words back into Booth's mouth. It was too much, too fast. They had just dreaded up ancient history to Sweets in the form of their very first case together. The case that they never spoke off… and for good reason. Booth once told her that the moment between him and Rebecca had passed when she declined his marriage proposal. She felt that their first case had been their _moment_, the proverbial instant that defined all future interaction. Sweets felt so as well. He said they have been punishing themselves ever since. She thought that Booth was still living off the exhilaration of the past when he said those things about giving them a chance, the couples in love thirty and forty years later. Now she wasn't so sure.

And now he was moving on. They were both moving on, together, apart.

But, they were wrong. It turns out that you can have several of those defining moments. She knows because they've had them, over and over again throughout the years of their partnership. Each one seemed to bring them closer together yet simultaneously still separate. Did it matter that they messed up the first one? Did it set some kind of prescient, leaving them destined to muddle all so-called life defining moments in the future?

Darwin, she really hated psychology.

It didn't do well to dwell on what has already happened. All that mattered was the present, and the last few hours she gets to spend with her best friend-slash-partner. Suddenly, she looked up to take in the atmosphere around her. What _was_ tonight about? Did the gambler inside him that was constantly fighting to escape think he had nothing to lose? Was there no harm in taking her to a restaurant tonight since they wouldn't have to face the repercussions of what it might mean tomorrow? Was it a psychological warfare tactic to flirt (was he flirting?) with her tonight so his words and looks could torture her for months to come? Booth had made it more than plain that he wanted her, and it was illogical to deny that she didn't want him since there was a stack of evidence to contrary. The bigger question remained - did she want him to want her? Was she ready for their different outcome?

When she saw their waiter approaching, she took a deep breath and instructed herself to stop over thinking.

"What may I get for you all to drink this evening?" The man was of Japanese descent. Brennan guessed from the Okinawa or Ryukyu Islands based on his oval face and greater hair thickness.

"Wine," she blurted, her face flushing further. Booth winked at her from around the side of his menu. "I mean a Sangiovese, please."

"Make it a bottle," Booth amended, "and a scotch on the rocks if it isn't too much trouble."

"Absolutely, no trouble at all, sir." He smiled. "Have you made your choices or have any questions about any of the dishes?"

"Bones?" Booth tossed the question at her.

She met his smile with one of her own. "I think we still need a few minutes."

The wine arrived quickly and Booth watched Bones swallow her first glass in three elegant gulps. "Jesus, where's the race? I'll be carrying you out of here before we even get to eat."

"I didn't realize how parched I was," she said by way of explanation. His eyes followed her fingers as they sheepishly played with the glass stem. "And you will not be carrying me."

"Oh, I'm not?" The ice in his stout glass clinked as he raised it to his mouth. "A few more of those and I'll throw you over my shoulder without you knowing the difference."

She could feel his eyes. He followed her every move as she poured herself a second glass. She was treading on risky territory, but she wouldn't dare give him the satisfaction. She was a responsible adult after all, one who had been managing her alcoholic beverage intake for many years.

"You're not the type of manhandle a woman."

"In certain situations," he mumbled under his breath.

Her eyes snapped to his face. The slight raise of his eyebrows and the upward tilt on the left corner of his lips struck a match within her. It made her itch to rid him of his smugness. He knew she had heard him too because his next words were haughtily amused. "I think it's the Wigwag short ribs for me. What'da say?"

She was pushing him or he was pushing her. At the moment she wasn't sure which, but neither of them could seem to help it. First it was the comment about the waitress, and now he all but guaranteed that he would manhandle her. Even as a child, she could never back down from a challenge. The old adage was true: anything worth doing was worth doing well. When she decided that she was going to do something, then she made damn sure she was going to be the best at it. Booth had unknowingly (or maybe not so unknowingly) issued a dare between them. She was going to deliver. He couldn't have really thought she wouldn't notice the upscale restaurant and his extra dose of charisma did he? Her social grace was awkward in the best of times, but she did notice when a man was trying to gain her favor.

And she was fairly well versed in enticing a man as well.

"Wagyu. And the eggplant and chickpea soup sounds flavorful," she said. Her ankle brushed his calf as she uncrossed then recrossed her legs. "Mediterranean food is known for having a plentiful health benefits, though many diets claiming to be Mediterranean veer greatly from the region's true cuisine."

Booth looked down, almost as if he could see through the table to figure out what she was up to. His knee touching hers earlier had been an accident. Whatever move it was she just made seemed intentional, too intentional. Bones was the type of woman Pops often likened to fire. Enticingly dangerous, enough to kill - but man, what a way to go. There was a good reason he kept, or rather tried to keep, their conversations a wide berth away from sex. It would hit too close to the current that always fizzled beneath them. He knew it would spiral out of control all too quickly.

"Right," he said finally. "Good plan."

What he needed was a _plan. _He could slam on the brakes right here and pretend he was spending the rest of dinner with a church group lady. Or... or he could entertain whatever little game they had started. He was about to be separated from her for a year, and he only had tonight to make sure things were settled between them. Not that he had gone completely insane and was going to throw out an engagement to her, but he was going to make damn sure she knew he cared for her in every way possible.

Problem was, Bones wasn't comfortable with emotions. He had learned the hard way that although she had come a long way since he had first crashed into her life, she still didn't believe that one day she wasn't going to be abandoned again. She wasn't going to risk herself for the notion of forever. He had laid it out on the line to her before and got burned. She said then that she didn't know how to change. So, he wasn't going to ask her to change and wasn't going to offer her forever. He didn't want her to change into a different person anyhow.

He simply wanted her to put a little trust in the evolution she loved. Change was forced, but evolution was natural. Years ago when he had given her Brainy Smurf, she said that she always corrected him to help him evolve. Now, he would gladly like to return the favor. Bones might not speak in emotions very well even though he had been tutoring her in the subject for a long time. Sex, however, was a language she was fluent in.

Fuck, he was going to hell.

The gauntlet had been thrown, and he had no intention of losing. Thinking of the soft, jazzy music when they first walked in, he swallowed rest of his scotch before sliding back his chair to stand. He licked his lips. "Come and dance."

"What? I don't think -" From this angle, Brennan had to tilt back her head to see his face. His smile was sexy, and a tad sinister. His hand was outstretched toward her, too. She had always been fascinated with his hands. They had such a contrast to her appendages. Hers were dry, almost boring, having been hidden away in sterile gloves most days. His were tan, rough. Every ridge and callous along his metacarpals and phalanges told a story. Sometimes when he placed his hand on her lower back, the hem of her top would get rustled giving them a sliver of flesh-to-flesh contact. It never failed to send a shiver of excitement up her spine.

Booth leaned in, his body towering over her. He didn't stop until he was close enough to smell the perfume on her skin. His nostrils flared. "I promise I don't bite."

Although his words were cliche and she didn't believe in psychology, it seemed that she still wasn't immune to its reversal. His mouth at her neck, nipping close to the junction of her clavicle. The blunt edge of his teeth along the rim of her ear, the iliac crest of her hip bones. He planted that seed of thought in her brain on purpose, she mused. It only served to make her more determined to make him sweat.

She stood to put them on even ground, but all it did was draw their bodies closer together. Their lips were inches apart as she told him, "I can't make such a promise."

His laugh was loud and came straight from the depths of his stomach. In the next instant he was joining her where she had moved to an empty spot between the tables. He staked claim on her waist and spun them both in a circle before she had time to measure his presence. A person from the staff must have been watching them because after a minute the music grew louder in their area and had taken on a faster tempo.

She slid against him in the smallest of ways, and Booth relished in seeing her so carefree. It was a rare sight to be sure that over the years he had gotten fleeting glimpses. He mentally thanked the big guy upstairs for letting him have this dance tonight to remember in the coming months.

"You like dancing, don't you?" he asked her. Their bodies moved in harmony, on instinct, without any added effort from their conscious brains.

She looked at him, her eyes doing a quick roll. "I enjoy a great number of activities, Booth."

The swivel of her hips increased by a hint as she spoke. He didn't have to reach far to guess what one or two of those other activities were. "No, I mean you really enjoy dancing. You," he searched for the right way to explain it to her, "let go. It has to be the dancing and not the classic eighties music. I doubt Cindi Lauper and the Foreigners could make you lose control."

"Sometimes the loss of control isn't a good thing." Her tone was somber. But, it was her expression that caused Booth to remember that the said instances hadn't ended well, by a large understatement. After being shot and blown up, it was a wonder they both weren't terrified of music. He shook his head, refusing to let the fear control him.

"Yeah, but what do they say, Bones? Location, location, location." He let his body press along hers a fraction more to ensure his statement wasn't lost on her analytical brain.

They danced for a short while longer, until the waiter had silently come back with their meals. Before they started in on their dishes, Booth poured them each a glass of wine - her third, he was counting - and proposed a toast.

"What are we celebrating?" she asked. Sitting here with him knowing that she wouldn't see him for months made her sad. Knowing he was heading into a war zone once again made her want to cancel her trip with the irrational hope that he would do the same.

"To being the center. To partnership."

Brennan wanted to blame the shiny feeling in her eyes on the Sangiovese. With Booth staring at her, she wouldn't dare let a tear fall. "As of yesterday, you no longer work at the FBI, and tomorrow I won't be employed by the Jeffersonian. We aren't partners anymore."

For a brief instant, he had a flash of her standing in the pool hall after he had fired her all those years ago. She had been happy then, reminding him that they could now have sex. If her words hadn't made it feel like someone had sucker punched him in the gut, he might have spewed the joke back at her. Tell her since they didn't work together, they should go jump between the sheets while they had the chance. Instead, his expression was fierce. "Do you really believe that?"

She opened her mouth to say there was no way to dispute such clear facts, but he continued on without her able to get out the first words.

"Because I don't, Bones. Our jobs - the Bureau and the Lab - they don't define who we are. You're my partner, which means I'll have your back whether you're in DC or the Lakuku islands."

"Maluku," she corrected automatically while the rest of her was still digesting his words.

"There too," he added with a grin. "Just because you can't see a person doesn't mean you're connection with them ends. You still care about them."

He was hitting too close to home. Leaving to her always meant abandonment. After ruling out foul play and it seemed that her parents had left on their own device, Brennan could only interpret it to mean they no longer loved her. Then Russ fled shortly after, proving there was something wrong with her. It wasn't until decades later that she found out her family (Booth was right, they hadn't ceased to be her family even though she didn't grow up with them) left to ensure her protection because they cared.

"You're right. I would have your back no matter what your location on Earth." He grinned when she said Earth, and she looked at him quizzically but he didn't elaborated on what was so amusing.

The rest of the meal passed mostly in comfortable silence. It was as if they were trying to soak up each other's presence to store for the months ahead. She noticed a few of his more minute mannerisms in greater consciousness. She tucked them away in the far corner of her neatly compartmentalized brain. He memorized the shape of her smile along with the sound of her rare laugh. He wished that he could capture a piece of her to take with him, like a moving Polaroid... didn't they have that sort of thing in the Harry Potter books? If only he were a wizard. She complemented the flavor of her soup, and they bickered over which spices were the most authentic. It wasn't until after their waiter came back to check on them a fourth time when she set down her spoon and dabbed the napkin to her lips that she became serious again.

"Promise me you will come back." Her voice was more earnest and telling than she had expected.

Booth had to remind himself to chew so he wouldn't choke on the bite of beef. "I can't do that."

"Why not," she breathed in half fear, half demand. "If you're going somewhere or doing something so dangerous that you're expecting fatal injury then you shouldn't venture there. It's irresponsible, you have a child -"

"Life is dangerous." Her mentioning Parker was a low blow, but he knew it was simply her thorns of defense seeping to the surface. "I could get hit by a car tomorrow and be killed just as easily as a wrong move in Afghanistan. I won't promise you I will come back because I don't make promises that I can't absolutely be certain I can keep." He drank the last of his wine. "_But,_ I promise you I _will_ do everything in my power to make it home." He left off the silent '_to you'_ though he spoke it in his mind.

"Without any serious traumas," she amended.

"Without any serious traumas"

"While not taking unnecessary risks and being extra cautious."

"While not taking unnecessary risks and being extra cautious." He echoed her words back to her on a laugh. "Only if you do the same"

"Of course," she said like she wasn't usually a magnetic for trouble.

"Nu uh, Bones. I wanna hear you say it."

"I promise you I will do everything in my power to make it home without any serious traumas while not taking unnecessary risks and being extra cautious," she mimicked flawlessly.

"I feel like we should shake on it."

Instead of saying 'I don't know what that means,' she gave him a smile that made him actively restrain himself from kissing her. "I don't think it will be required."

They finished off the bottle of Sangiovese, and Booth patted his stomach claiming he was too full to eat another bite or he'd pop. Brennan explained the flexibility of stomach capacity and despite it being impossible for one to explode from food, she felt the same. At the time of the check their Okinawaian waiter told them it had already been taken care of, compliments of the chef. Booth took out his wallet to place a couple of bills on the table, leaving a generous tip.

Then he surprised Brennan by coming around her side of the table and pulling back her chair. Standing in front of her, he put his hand on her thigh - feeling the twitch of her muscles as he did - while the other fell to her ribcage close to her waist. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, and she spluttered.

"What are you doing!"

"Picking you up." His inflection and expression was something she imagined Parker making.

A playful scuffle ensued, gaining the attention of a couple who had been seated not far away while they had been eating. Once he knew he had been defeated, Booth gave up (for the time being), and escorted her out with his hand ever present on the small of her back.

Brennan noticed that his usual gesture was about a hand's length lower than normal. On their way out, she also saw the frail hostess looking as one of his fingers slid below the waistband of her pants. An illogical feeling of satisfaction ripped through her veins as the hairs on the nape of the neck stood on end. She wondered if they were still playing their game.

"I have somethin for ya," Booth said, his head next to hers. He had come closer to reach over her shoulder and open the door.

"You do?"

Booth couldn't help but give her a little squeeze. The way she always lit up like a kid at Christmas at the mere thought of somebody giving her a gift made him feel like less of an idiot for getting her random trinkets. He used the leverage he had at her back to push her toward the SUV. They were halfway through the parking lot when she stopped him with a hand on his bicep.

"Wait!" she spoke with sudden urgency. "We have to go to my apartment. There is an object there I want to give you."

"Aw, Bones. You didn't have to give me anything."

Her sentences were rushed in panicked excitement. "I was going to bring it to the lab tomorrow but you're leaving earlier than I anticipated, and you can't..." she trailed off, collecting her thoughts.  
"You have to have it."

He didn't know what to make of her abrupt behavior, but when in doubt it was best to stick to the truth. "Okay, we'll go to your place and swap. Your thing is really important too."

With each mile they passed on the way to her apartment, Booth became wearier for the night to end. Was he really going back to the army? It felt weird to think he'd be on base in less than 24 hours. He had talked to Bones, and Rebecca, and even Parker about the decision. It wasn't an institution he could turn away. But, he was older now and would make better decisions. He had plenty more reasons to make it home, not to mention he had people to turn to when he got there. He wasn't joining up because he was aimless and would do anything to escape from being a burden on Pops and a punching bag for his old man. He wouldn't fall into depression and sooth it with gambling because a three year tour hadn't erased the aimless feeling. This time around he had a job, a purpose. He would get in, get it done, and get out. It would also give him some air and space from a certain anthropologist. Hell, maybe he would find a way to get over her while he was there. Bury all his love for her in the desert.

"Booth?" He turned to see her staring at him as if he was an anomaly in a bone she couldn't quite figure solve. "Was this a date?"

Startled, he had no other choice but to laugh, and hope that he finds a deep enough sand plot to drown himself.

**TBC...**

**I didn't plan for this chapter to be split into three parts, but they lolligagged in the restaurant longer than I expected them to. I had half of the next chapter written, but I can't find the piece of paper I wrote it on... so if I don't find it by tomorrow, I'll have to suck it up and do a rewrite (at least I know what I'm going to put in it). Updates on Dead of Night & Anatomy of Pie should be coming soon. Sorry for the delay. And I do read and am SO THANKFUL for every review, and will promise to respond. I'd love to hear you're comments so please lemme know what you're thinking! Also, check out my profile to see the progress of other chapters, and I'd love twitter friends _isagrasshopper_**

**Okay, done with rambling! Happy Early Turkey Day!  
**


	4. Chapter 2 Pt 3

**Leave of Absence  
Chapter Two: Part Three**

_Previously…._

_"Booth?" He turned to see her staring at him as if he was an anomaly in a bone she couldn't quite figure solve. "Was this a date?"_

_Startled, he had no other choice but to laugh, and hope that he finds a deep enough sand plot to drown himself._

_

* * *

_

Her apartment was dark when they walked in, causing her to flip on the tall floor lamp as she moved in to the kitchen. In response to her query in which if the night had been a date, he had spewed an explanation that would hold less water than his 'guy hugs' ploy. Her lips had quirked at him from the passenger's seat as he had rambled nonsense. A part of him wondered if she had only asked in order to see him sweat and gain advantage in whatever little ridiculous game they were playing.

"Do you want a drink?" Her voice drifted from inside the fridge. He was tempted to comment that she was trying to get him drunk and lose all his inhibitions. But what would he do if she said yes?

"No thanks. Dinner kind of did me in I think."

_Coward._

She returned a moment later to sit next to him on the couch, a glass of water in her hand. Her lips were wet and shiny from where she had taken a sip. It was distracting. "The dinner that was merely two good friends having a nice meal together to celebrate a successful and symbiotic work relationship while wishing the other well in their upcoming journey?"

Her statement was more polished than his awkward words had been. Not to mention the laughter in her eyes let him know she definitely saw through the mumbo jumbo he had spun in the car.

"Absolutely," he deadpanned.

The iridescent blue bag he had brought inside was between their feet. He picked it up, offering it to her. "You think it's weird we got each other presents without planning it?"

"Great minds think alike."

"Hey Bones, you got one!"

She was silent, and he figured she was revving up to a lecture on the anthropological importance of the exchange of gifts. Then her face turned toward him with a wistful smile. "Mom used to say, 'Great minds think alike but accepting differing thoughts is what makes them exceptional.' Dad would joke that it was her motto."

"Your mom sounds like she was a very smart woman. I can't say I'm surprised." His mouth crinkled into a grin. "And Miss Genius thinks I have a great mind… maybe even an exceptional one?"

"While your IQ is not as high as mine and I hold more degrees than you, you possess a number of important qualities not counted in an academic manner. You're very skilled in strategic situations where the mind has to process various circumstances to evaluate which are the most feasible and rational."

Booth couldn't hold back his laugh. Leave it to Bones to give a compliment that comes complete with evidence. He also didn't think she had ever used him and rational in the same sentence either.

"You also excel in analyzing people who you interview. Your brain interprets minute signals they emit where you then act and ask the most pertinent questions accordingly. "

"Alright, alright, you think I'm the street smart Thomas Edison." He appreciated the flattery but it made uncomfortable, like an itchy suit in church. Nonetheless, it was nice to know that they had come a long way since she called him a superstitious moron. He gave the bag a shake. "Come on, open up."

The first thing Brennan withdrew from the plethora of tissue paper was a satellite phone. She recognized the clunky device immediately from her time spent working in disaster relief. Usually the areas she had been sent to were so remote, or destroyed, that traditional telephone lines and towers were either never constructed to begin with or damaged beyond repair. While the model she held in her hand was still bulky, it was newer than the terminals she had used in the past. It resembled a mobile phone from the early to mid 90's as opposed to the ones that looked better suited in the 80's. It had a fixed antenna roughly the width of her finger and only a minimum of buttons outside of the large keypad.

"It's a sat phone," she stated rather lamely. She knew she should say more but her tongue suddenly felt thick and awkward in her mouth. There was meaning behind the gift. There were always meanings behind the things Booth gave her... no matter how mundane they seemed to an outsider.

"I had a guy I know check it out. He says it's the best of the best. There's another antenna and a spare battery in there too."

"Booth," she found that she couldn't draw away from the object in her grasp to meet his gaze. "Why did you get me this?"

The tone he adopted was light. "Trouble finds you faster than a stain finds Parker's white school shirt. Did you really think you were going travel all the way to Indonesia without me making sure you had back up?"

Despite the dim light of the living room, her eyes were fierce. "I can take care of myself. Not only will there be adequate security at the site, I've fended on my own in countries far less industrialized than Indonesia." Noticing that he was starting to clench his jaw, she willed herself to relax. "I appreciate your gesture. You don't have to be concerned. I'll be fine. And uniforms for young children should be made out of more stain resistant fabric. I can suggest some materials we use at the Jeffersonian, or I'm sure Hodgins could recommend something you could propose at the next PTA meeting."

It was an impulse he couldn't deny. He hugged her, squished her body against his, no holds barred.

"What was that for?"

"I'm really gonna miss you, ya know," he said, purposefully neglecting to mention that he wouldn't be around for the next PTA meeting.

Her smile was shy but pleased. "I'm going to miss you too."

Booth took the phone from her then, turning it over in his hands. "You can't fault me for being worried about you, especially after that promise we made at dinner. I know you can take care of yourself, Bones. Hell, you might only wear the costume on Halloween but you're Wonder Woman every day of the week. Even superheroes aren't invincible though, which is why I'm allowed to give you every available advantage for you to take care of yourself."

"Yet you refused to let me have a gun."

He scoffed. "You didn't want a gun. You wanted something Wile E. Coyote slung around."

She was pouting but he knew if he called her on it she'd deny it and state some bull about how a rational adult doesn't make such a childish expression. It made him want to poke at her jutted out bottom lip or maybe nip at it with his teeth.

_Focus._

"Do you know what actions speak louder than words mean?"

"Of course."

"Sometimes when you love someone but can't say the words you tend to them in other ways, like, uh, protective hovering," he tried to explain without bluntly giving himself away as a lovesick fool, "since if you can't say it at least you can show it. Actions are easier. They can't be taken back."

"You gave me a satellite because you care about me?" Her voice wavered the slightest bit on care, though it didn't matter much. There was a prehistoric sized elephant making circles around the couch with the _LOVE_ screamed in neon pink across its side.

"I could give you the complete origins on every terminal ever made plus a book report on all the companies who provide satellite communications if you asked me to."

For someone who normally lacked in reading between lines, for once she understood perfectly.

"That's a lot."

Booth let out a breath that she didn't actually ask him to list the history - with Bones you could never know - and that she got his wayward meaning without having to humiliate himself any further.

"And yet, there's more."

She was slightly hesitant, but nonetheless reached in past what she felt was the phone's accessories to pull out... "An alien?"

The creature was about the size of a third of a palm with a chain coming out of her back to attach to a set of keys. Brennan knew the alien was a girl since she had painted black ridges for eyelashes along with skin of a pinky purple color. The soft rubber it was made from was pliable. She pressed the abdomen to see it light from within.

"It's you. Well, Magenta, your true alien form."

"Do you think I'm merely stopping in to DC on my way back to Transylvania?"

Booth felt like he'd just been whacked in the back of the head with a baseball in broad daylight. "How do you even know -"

It only took seconds for it to click. They both spoke simultaneously.

"Angela."

"Back in college she played Columbia in the midnight showings the local theater put on around Halloween."

He grinned. "So Bones, can you do the Time Warp?

"Very well." She squished Magenta to light up again and then danced the little alien around on the cushion between them as she hummed the tune.

"I almost forgot. Her eyes glow in the dark too!" With a warm feeling in his heart, he took the creature and leaned across Brennan to hold it near the bulb of the floor lamp.

His scent that teased her during long rides in the SUV, a heady smell she could only describe as Booth and soap, filled her senses. He was relaxed... too fixated on trying to see if the phosphors in the alien had obtained enough energy to illuminate to notice she had frozen. Proverbial fire ran down her spine at being surrounded by the natural heat he always seemed to emit. She repressed the urge to rub her thighs together to relieve the sudden ache.

_Oh God, how much had she had to drink at dinner?_

Too soon or not soon enough, (Her body and mind couldn't decide which. She wanted to whine at the internal struggle), he was back in his original position. His hands came to cup around Magenta, making a small dark cave about her. He gestured for Brennan to lean down and look.

Sure enough, the whites of Magenta's eyes were aglow in a cloudy yellowish hue. However, Brennan was more focused on the tips of Booth's fingers resting on the cusp of her forehead and hairline while the base of his palm tapped the edges of her mouth. "She's going to keep you company in Maluku," he said as if it were a foregone conclusion. She pulled back so she could see him. "To remind you to stop digging and look up once in a while. Remember that even though you'll be in Indonesia, I'll be in Afghanistan, Angela and Hodgins zipping off to Paris, and Cam with the squints still at the home front: if we look up, we'll all be lookin' at the same sky."

She smiled. The sentiment was nice. She didn't want to ruin it by pointing out the factual error that one's local sky differed by geographical location.

"Your turn," she said, and Booth watched her wander back to her bedroom. He stayed on the sofa with the terminal, extra bits, and Magenta spread out on the coffee table. He toyed with the alien while he waited, his nail running across the place where he knew the GPS tracker was hidden inside. He twisted to see if her shadowy form was coming up the hallway. Bones would jump on his case again if she knew about the locator and probably refuse to bring it on the island with her out of principle. So it was best for now that it was his and Magenta's little secret…

**We're gearing up to the angsty part. Next chapter might need a tissue warning. I PROMISE that the next installment will be the end of chapter two – for real this time. 95% of it is already written, so the update will be quick – again, for real this time.**

**ALSO! I'm part of a new project where we're turning **_**FANIC INTO EBOOKS**_ **so check it out at **untoldstoryproject[dot]webs[dot]com** (exchange [dot] for an actual .) A link is also in my profile. And I'd love twitter friends - isagrasshopper **


	5. Chapter 2 Pt 4

**Leave of Absence  
Chapter Two - Part Four**

The 'You make my life harder' line comes from the scrumptious Michael Vaughn from _Alias. _Yum. He can handle me anytime : )

_Previously…_

_"Your turn," she said, and Booth watched her wander back to her bedroom. He stayed on the sofa with the terminal, extra bits, and Magenta spread out on the coffee table. He toyed with the alien while he waited, his nail running across the place where he knew the GPS tracker was hidden inside. He twisted to see if her shadowy form was coming up the hallway. Bones would jump on his case again if she knew about the locator and probably refuse to bring it on the island with her out of principle. So it was best for now that it was his and Magenta's little secret._

_

* * *

_

"Booth."

He stilled when he heard her muffled voice. _She wants me to come back there?_ Taking a deep breath, he slunked down the hall like a man condemed to death. A man that was just a smidge too excited about his execution. He stopped at the doorway to her room. Although he had seen her bedroom before, he had never been past the threshold.

She was pushed up on the tips of her toes, reaching for something on the top shelf of her closet. "Need help?" he asked, stepping into the room. For an odd moment he felt like he should close the door behind him.

She shook her head no as the red suitcase slid into her grasp. When she opened it on her bed, Booth was immediately nervous. It was her keepsake box. He knew it without her having to tell him... not that she ever would. The items inside were to varied for it to be anything else. Plus, he spotted the shoes engraved with all the names of her foster homes poking out of tissue paper in the far left corner. She withdrew a small, rectangular container of deep wood and closed the case.

"Hank told me that he gave you your St. Christopher necklace when you joined the rangers, for protection." She moved to stand in front of him then, and reached beneath the neckline of his shirt to pull the pendant into view. The cool metal was in sharp contrast to his warm skin. "You know I don't believe that inanimate objects hold magical powers and deities that have no evidence of true existence could somehow protect people."

If it hadn't been for the vulnerable tone in her voice, Booth would have pointed out that he was overly aware she thought his entire belief system was crap but now was a piss poor time to discuss it. He watched her open the wooden box she had removed from the suitcase. As she removed a drawstring bag from inside, he noticed her hands were shaking the smallest bit.

"When I was in Thailand on a research trip to interview a Hmong community that had fled Laos during their civil war, a shaman gave me this." She uncinched the bag so an ornately carved rooster suspended from weaved, thin leather cord could fall into her palm. "Roosters are used in their faith when traveling to the unknown. They are under the belief that the animal armors one from evil spirits by making them invisible. The theory is that the evil only sees the animal spirit instead of a human one."

She brought the necklace closer, and Booth could see that it was a deep red color. "This particular community no longer used actual livestock. They also thought that more than a shaman could be protected. When the animal is slaughter for food, their blood is soaked into the carved figurines during a ceremony to infuse part of its spirit. Although I think such things are an impossibility, it would have been disrespectful of me to refuse a gift from such a high elder of the culture. I wore it for the duration of the project."

"Two weeks later, our campsite was attacked. Myself and nineteen other members of the project were beaten and starved for eleven days. Yet, I felt as if I had been spared. I was one of the few not to be sexually assaulted or killed. In the days after I watched my peers and Hmong people be raped before brutally murdered, I found comfort in the totem. Even while I thought I would die from starvation or dehydration, it was nice to imagine I was protected. I came to view it as a symbol - that the shaman thought enough of my character to want to guard me."

Brennan took a breath. She didn't speak about the Thailand trip often. It wasn't a time of her life she wanted to remember. She stepped forward and placed the intricately braided rope around his neck. "It would give me peace to know you were wearing this in Afghanistan. It can serve as your reminder that you don't always have to be there hero. Sometimes it's okay to be invisible."

"There are people in DC who need you. I need you. I need you to come back whole and healthy, Booth."

He was floored. Bones rarely showed emotions so freely. When she did though, it never failed to knock him off his feet.

He knew that the weight of the wooden object now around his neck was infinitesimal, but he felt it clearly. It's significance weighed against his heart. "Bones..." he spoke, unable to put to words what the gift meant to him.

Her hands followed the lines of the chains until they came to rest at his chest. His joined hers, his larger hands covering her smaller ones. Her eyes were both dark and light at the same time, begging him. There was no way he could have stopped himself. He closed the spare foot of space between them. His face moved in what seemed like slow motion toward hers in the falling night of her bedroom. He could feel her breath as it ghosted over his skin...

She turned her head at the last possible second. His lips pushed across her cheek, getting a millimeter's tease of the pliant flesh at the corner of her mouth.

"I can't," she whispered. Her words were so soft that he probably wouldn't have heard her if she hadn't been speaking into his ear.

He pulled away, tugging his hands out of hers even after she tightened her grip. He closed his eyes and wished time would reverse itself so he could stop making the same colossal mistake over and over again.

"Dammit!" he grunted on a strained exhale. "I... Christ!" He landed on the end of her bed with a heavy _frumpt_. Leaning forward to balance his elbows on his splayed knees, he buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. When was he going to learn that she would never be ready to take a chance on something more with them? Why did it seem like he was hellbent on ruining their friendship? He had freaked her out so badly with telling her he loved her (was atta-girl really the best save he could manage?) that he was honestly surprised when she didn't run back to Guatemala on the first flight out. Then he pours his heart out to her while following the half cocked advice of Sweets, only to have it crushed. It's what he got for listening to a twelve year old.

He promised her and himself that he was moving on. But then he tries to kiss her at the first opportunity of her opening up to him again. "Bones... that wasn't - I was out of line."

Brennan could feel the salty droplets as they welled in her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried. "No. No. Please, look at me!" She blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

"I should go," Booth mumbled, but couldn't muster the strength to stand and leave. He knew if he walked out the door now, things would never be the same again with them.

"Don't leave." Her body went rigid with alert. She was ready to block the door if she had to. Moments passed, and when it looked like it wasn't going to bolt, she came to sit next to him on the bed. She scooted in close, close enough that her knee was wedged against his leg and the mattress. "Look at me, Booth. Please." She took his hands, the same one she had admired earlier, and pulled them away from his face. Intertwining their fingers, she placed them in her lap.

Her voice was gentle yet demanding.

"You have it wrong. I want to. I really do. Likely more than you."

His self deprecating grin was automatic. "Doubt that, Bones."

"Come on, I'm trying to be serious."

"Me too." He twisted to lean his forehead against her's. "Kiss you is serious business."

Being this close to each other, he was out of focus but she could feel his heavy stare. Her nose detected the unmistakable refreshing smell of Carmex coming from his lips as it rested alongside his. Even during sex, she had never felt more connected to another person. "Exactly. Booth, never in my life have I wondered what it would mean to kiss a man." She took a deep breath, hoping that he wouldn't comment on her tears that were pressed between them. "This war going on inside me, I don't like it. You make my life harder. I can't compartmentalize when you're around."

"I'm sorry. It's a good thing then I'll be getting out of your hair for a year." She was killing him inch by inch. His dignity had already been shot to hell. The only way he was going to get out of her apartment alive was to take a page out of her book and start putting up walls. "Be safe in Indonesia. I'll see myself out."

"Stop it." She said. Her voice was drenched in tears as she jabbed a finger in his chest. She also threw her thigh over his legs for good measure, to prevent him from getting up. "Harder doesn't mean bad. I'm not saying that you haven't made my life better, because you have. But, that's only made it that much worse."

His body was screaming at him to just... take. Take her. There was no way she hadn't felt his arousal, especially since she was now resting on top of it. She had just admitted that there was something more between them. She was still scared, sure, but now for a completely different reason. It was hard not to press his lips to hers again.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and fell backward. They bounced once then settled into her duvet. "So Bones, whadda we going to do?"

He never thought that her telling him he made her life worse would ever make him feel so light. Yet, he was... because for the first time he felt that she finally got it.

"We're going to go away for a year. We both made commitments. And," she buried her face deeper in the crook of his neck, "there are reasons we made plans to leave. I need space, Booth. This is a lot for me, and I need to be on my own while I figure it out. I need to be me. I want to be an anthropologist for a while, not a crime fighter."

"And when you come back?"

"I want you to take me on a date."

Was he still breathing? Booth wasn't entirely sure. He ran a hand through her chocolate tresses so she would pull back to look at him. He had to see her face. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and a husky.

Her smile was shy, but her words didn't waiver. "The first thing I want to do when I get back is have coffee with you. Then if we both feel the same way as we do now, I want you to take me on a date."

They lay there, enclosed in each other in the middle of her bed with their feet hanging to the floor. It was the closest they had ever been, physically or emotionally. Yet, it felt almost unseemingly natural. They didn't talk and they didn't need to. As cliché as it sounded, they connected on a realm beyond words, on a plane run by the warmth and proximity of their bodies. After a while, the overhead light clicked off and they were dropped in the darkness.

"Uh, Bones?" he questioned.

He could feel the shape of her mouth as it moved against his throat. "Motion sensing bulbs, they're environmentally friendly. They will come back on when they detect a wide range of activity." Neither of them made any attempt to move.

While being sidetracked with '_wide range of activity' _making him think of sex, his fingers fell to a spot he had claimed on her long ago. They danced small circles over her skin, and she hummed in appreciation. "So by the reflecting pool in the mall there's a coffee cart."

"Yes, it's a very popular location. It would reason that there would be several food venders in the area."

His fingers slid lower, still dancing. "Well I figure that's where we could meet…" He trailed off and they both mulled over the implications of what that cup of coffee will mean.

"I'd like that," she agreed simply.

Long moments passed. And Booth tried not to think about that come morning he'd be on base. Overly starched fabric of a uniform would be draped across his body instead of her silk like skin.

"Booth?" His eyes hadn't adjusted to the light enough to see her face but he could vaguely gage where she was by the way her breathed ghosted over his face. For a response, the hand that wasn't on the small of her back swept alongside the nape of her neck up to the sensitive place behind her ear. "Why would an individual name a feral animal and give it a firearm?"

"_What?_" he laughed incredulously. Maybe he had slipped into another coma without realizing it.

Her smile was wide with a touch of wickedness lurking at the edges. She leaned in and spoke so closely that their lips almost collided. "Earlier, you said I didn't want a gun but something Whiley Coyote slung around. Why would someone name a coyote and give it a gun?"

He laughed again, hard enough that she felt as it rumbled in his chest. He rolled them then so she was sprawled beneath him. His voice was low and rough as he whispered in her ear. "Forget your fancy Starbucks Bones, I'm already thinking this will be the best cup of coffee I will ever have."

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